Smile for the *&%$# birdie

Pictures.

<shudder>

My bathroom mirror and I have an arrangement, based pretty much on denial and illusion:  if I focus really hard, it shows me what I want to see.  And then I don't have to shatter it.  We get along.  It works.  Other mirrors don't do this for me.  They don't know me, so they don't care how I look, but if I turn this way and that, I can usually get some sort of a workable image that doesn't make me want to cry.  You'd think that a mirror is a mirror is a mirror, but for some reason, I feel like I look different in my own mirror than I do in, say, dressing rooms.

But pictures.

Unless you're in Harry Potter Land, once the camera clicks, your image - good, bad, or indifferent - is fixed for all eternity.  You get set up for the pose, thinking you've covered all the bases and are presenting only the very best superficial image of yourself, so you give this big smile, hoping your tension isn't obvious, and pray for the best.  Only afterwards, when it's too late to correct flaws, do you see what everyone else sees.  Except you really don't.  They see you, period.  But if you're like me, you see everything wrong with you and your life and everything that makes you less of a person, everything that marks you as different and substandard.  That's not what my Denial Mirror showed me, you say; in my Denial Mirror, I looked much better.  My hair looked better, my teeth looked whiter, my face looked less round, my hands looked prettier, my skin looked younger, my shape looked better, I looked taller.  (My Denial Mirror is very generous.)  What exactly happened between there and here?

Pictures.

It's not exactly a news flash that people get too caught up in how they look.  I know I am seriously guilty of that, and, very unwisely, I've made a lot of decisions in my life based on how bad I feel about myself.  Not too smart, huh.  I've shortchanged myself.  I've underestimated myself.  I've undervalued myself.  I've taken myself for granted.  Shall I continue, or do you get the picture?  (No pun intended)  If you take a look through our family photo albums, you could be forgiven for thinking I didn't exist, because I'm in so few pictures.  I'm just...not there.  And that, I am sorry to say, was by my own choice.

When I first started working on my health this year, I was a slave to the scales.  It took a while for my physical changes to affect me medically, so at first all I had to go on was the red numbers between my toes on the scale every day.  Someone asked me during that time, "Do you go to the bathroom before you weigh in the morning?" and I laughed, probably maniacally, and said, "Are you kidding?  Hon, I pick off lint."  Those scales were the most direct indicator of how I was changing visually, and I worshiped them accordingly.  It was only later, after several months, that I started seeing the crack in my thinking.  It was, I believe, about the time one of my medications became too strong due solely to my new weight, and my doctor had to reduce the dosage.  That's when the light bulb went off overhead.  (I can be a bit slow like that sometimes.)  Ohhhhhh, I said, health, right, that IS why I'm doing this, NOW I remember.  Realizing it was a lot easier than implementing it, though.  Kind of like trying to turn an aircraft carrier on a dime.  Changing poor thinking based on decades of experience doesn't happen overnight.  I had many Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde moments where I'd wobble between courage and terror - "I don't care what people think AAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!" [sound of stampeding feet and wailing]  Recently, to celebrate a weight loss milestone, I decided in a burst of bravery to get new family pictures made.  With me in them.  That was the kicker.  I would be right in the thick of it, saying, "HEY WORLD, LOOK AT ME!"  Sweet Lord in Heaven, give me strength.  The weeks between that decision and the actual day of the shoot could have been fodder for a school of psychiatry for years.  My family's patience was tested to the max, and, I'm proud to say, everyone survived with only minimal scarring.  When the pictures came out, Old Stephanie and New Stephanie sat side by side and fought for supremacy:  "OMG I look horrible/No, look how much stronger and healthier you look than last year/Why didn't someone stop me, I feel like a fool/GET OVER YOURSELF, YOU LOOK GREAT".  Such unwavering power of decision is what made my husband glad he married me, lol.  Seriously, though, it was my first real test in a new way of thinking.  They say Strong is the new Skinny.  I guess I've adapted it to fit me personally:  Healthy is the new Skinny.  (Maybe someone else has already said that; if so, I apologize for stealing their idea.)  I am much healthier than I was a year ago, and that does show in the pictures.

So does that mean I'm OK with pictures now?  Oh, heck no.  But I will be, as long as I keep working on how I think.  I exist.  I am here.  No one's going to look at our photo albums anymore and think I'm not there.  My name is Stephanie; I have a life and I have a family and I am proud to show both.